


Writer Rejected

by AceOfAllCats



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24799501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfAllCats/pseuds/AceOfAllCats
Summary: Another one-shot I wrote up while avoiding sleep. This one's from the POV of a hunter with a ~writing hobby~. Woo.





	Writer Rejected

I stare down at the book sitting on my desk, flipping an angel blade absent-mindedly in my hand. I can’t focus on the page long enough to read anything, and the few words that I manage to read are forgotten by the next flip of the blade.

Out of nowhere, there’s a knock at the door. The angel blade clatters to the desk as I jump up, shout “Coming!”, and hurry over to the door, thanking the universe for the legitimate distraction. I pull open the door, grinning and bouncing on the balls of my feet. The energy that had been bubbling up in me has finally gotten a chance to release some of the pressure, and it isn’t going to stop until it wanted to.

Dean stands on the other side of the threshold, holding a couple envelopes.

“These were at the PO box.” He watches me as I nearly skip back to my desk, pick up the angel blade and use it as a letter opener.

“Took them long enough to get here! I’ve been waiting!” I pull the letters out of the envelopes, hurriedly skimming the neat, typed text. “Dammit.”

“Did you just use an angel blade to open your letters? Isn’t that…? Where did you even get that?” I’m not sure if he sounds angry, upset, or impressed.

“Isn’t it what? The ultimate power move? Yes, yes it is. Stole it from one of the last bastards who came charging at us. For celestial beings, they’re pretty easy to pickpocket in a fight. At this point, I’ve got a small stash in the basement.” I glance up at him from where I’ve perched on the edge of my chair, still frantically reading the letters. “Dammit! Shit!”

“Everything alright? You sound annoyed by whatever’s in those letters…” The soothing tone of his voice may be intended to be nice, but I really can’t care less.

“Do you have a lighter on you?” He holds out a matchbook, which I take with a shrug. “Eh, close enough.” I pick up the wastebasket from underneath my desk, dumping the crumpled papers within onto the floor. I tear the letters and envelopes into shreds, which I then drop into the wire basket. I light a match and drop it onto the pile of paper. I sigh as the flame rises, licking the edges of the basket.

Dean gives me an incredulous look.

“What? Were you not expecting that or something?” I toss him back the matchbook, tucking my hands into my pockets as I watch the fire dwindle out.

“What was all that about?”

“I sent one of my books to a few publishers, and I finally got the replies.”

“All ‘no’s, then?” I hang my head, feeling more than a little defeated. “Well, next time let's deal with things with a little less trashcan fire, and a little more gun range. How’s that for letting out anger? Or we could put that stash of angel blades to the test! Up to you!”

I smile, feeling better but only slightly.

“I think I might take you up on that gun range bit. Do we still have those clown targets?”

“Sammy would never let us run out."


End file.
